


Aftershocks

by bookjunkiecat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After-care, Bottom Greg, Cuddling, First Time, Greg is touch-starved, Locked to Archive users, M/M, Massage, Mycroft is affectionate, Soft Smut Sunday, Soft schmoop, TLC, Top Mycroft, do not copy to another site, post-sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:30:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23156665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Following their first time, Greg, who has vowed not to be clingy, finds that he doesn't even need to ask for what he wants...Mycroft is all too happy to anticipate and fulfill his needs.
Relationships: Mycroft/Greg, Mystrade - Relationship
Comments: 39
Kudos: 183
Collections: Soft Smut Sunday





	Aftershocks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hoomhum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoomhum/gifts).

> This #SoftSmutSunday fic is dedicated to Mottlemoth, who suggested 'after care' as the topic for this week's SSS.  
Many, many thanks to Hoomhumhobbit who beta'd this for me and cheered me on.

Greg came down slowly, reluctantly, a feverish shiver still radiating through his body. Sweat mingled with the faint tears that had appeared as his climax crested. Blinking to clear his vision, Greg scattered droplets like miniscule diamonds. Momentarily dazzled, he had to close his eyes. Fingers twitching, he reached blindly for Mycroft.

Unerringly reading his needs, Mycroft tossed the knotted condom aside and leaned over from where he was kneeling between Greg’s sprawled legs. “Alright, sweetheart?” he murmured, squeezing Greg’s hand. “That’s a beautiful smile.” He dipped down, gracing Greg’s smiling lips with a gentle kiss. He nuzzled his damp cheek, “Mm, god, but you make me happy.”   
  


Greg had his arms wound around Mycroft’s shoulders before he’d even opened his eyes. He sought, and found, a kiss, losing himself in it. Stroking Mycroft’s cheek, he hooked a fond ankle over Mycroft’s calf. “Talk about happy…”

“Hm?” Mycroft smiled against his lips, echoing Greg’s growing, irrepressible, smile, pressed his forehead to Greg’s. “Can you spare me for a minute, darling?” At Greg’s noise of protest, he soothed, “I’ll be back.”

“Promise?” Greg wanted to call back the words as soon as they’d left his lips. Oh god, he’d promised himself that when they finally made love he wouldn’t be a weepy clinger. Every woman he’d ever been with had grown tired of his ‘neediness.’ He’d grown used to restraining himself from wanting too much, from reaching for more.

Mycroft, who’d nearly begun to pull away, eased himself back, lowering his body until his weight rested, warm and comforting, on top of Greg’s. He let out an unconscious breath, nearly a gasp, relief flooding through him. Unable to help himself, he slipped his arms around Mycroft’s slim waist, holding him tightly.  _ I’ll let go in just a minute, _ he promised himself.  _ Just gimme a minute. _

Adjusting his stance so that he was propped on his elbows, Mycroft framed Greg’s face with delicate hands. Regarding him seriously, he waited until Greg’s nervous gaze had ceased darting around the room, and came to rest on his with shy worry. Voice soaked with sincerity, words deliberate, Mycroft spoke, “I’m not leaving you. I’m merely going to fetch a glass of water and a warm flannel.”

Greg bit his lip, “Alright…”

Mycroft smiled tenderly, brushing the tip of his nose over Greg’s, “I’ll be back on swift feet.” Parting with obvious reluctance, he trailed his fingertips over Greg’s stomach, coaxing shivers from him. “Back in a tick, sweetheart.”

Greg snuggled into Mycroft’s ridiculously comfy mattress, and turned his head to watch Mycroft cross the room. The lizard part of his brain stirred at the sight of the pale flanks and surprisingly pert arse moving away from him, but it was his heart which yearned. He wanted _ \--needed-- _ to watch him, not out of lust, but love. 

They’d been dating for nearly three months; slow, cautious, a delightful courtship. One full of lengthy make out sessions, and phone calls which stretched into the night, both of them reluctant to hang up even when their conversation dwindled and they were nearly asleep. Greg had longed to fall into bed with Mycroft early on, to dive into the sea of desire that stretched deep into their shared past. There were nights he nearly wept as he went alone to his cold bed, mentally beating himself up for parting from Mycroft. He’d tried to apologize for his reluctance, but even he hadn’t entirely understood it. Instead he was left inarticulate and frustrated with his inability to communicate.

Mycroft, bless him, had understood even if Greg hadn’t. His own passion for Greg was evident, but not assertive. Not once had he made Greg feel pressured or rushed, even when he’d been unable to vocalize exactly why he wanted to take it slow. It wasn’t just that Greg hadn’t been with a man since his more footloose early twenties. It was that, well, Mycroft was special. What they had was...extraordinary, startling. He didn’t want to rush headlong into a physical connection, hated to risk destroying the fragile feeling of self-worth and bone-deep happiness he’d discovered.

If ever there was anyone suited to old-fashioned courtship, it was Mycroft Holmes. He’d wooed Greg with kind gestures and attentive dinners, little joking texts, casual film nights curled on one of their sofas. Greg found joy in nestling into Mycroft’s arms; he’d never been the little spoon before, and it healed something in him he’d been unaware had cracked over his lifetime.

Disturbed from his mental wanderings, Greg watched with languid, hungry eyes as Mycroft returned, looking as if he’d missed Greg in the short time they’d been parted. Handing him the glass of water, Mycroft leaned over the bed and smoothed the warm, damp flannel over Greg’s groin, handling his cock with a soft hand. Running the cloth over his arse crack, he met Greg’s eyes and smiled. “Thirsty, hm?”

“Huh? Oh,” Greg looked at the glass, which he’d drained without realizing. “Guess so.”

“Shall I refill it?”

Greg waved a hand, “I can--”

“Please ask for anything you need, Greg,” Mycroft said solemnly, taking the glass. He padded away to the en suite, water ran, and returned. Handing the glass over, he sat on the edge of the bed by Greg’s hip. “You needn’t be afraid to tell me what you want.” He looked down at his hands, smoothing his thumb over one slightly ragged cuticle with an absent frown, “Don’t deny yourself anything you want.” He looked up again, intense, slightly vulnerable. “If it’s in my power to grant you, I’ll--Greg, I would do anything to make you happy.”

Greg fumbled to set the glass aside, nearly tipping it on it’s side. Grabbing Mycroft’s hands, he pulled urgently at him. “I need you, need your skin,” he begged. Mycroft came willingly, plastering himself against Greg, neck to toe. They sighed simultaneously, exhaling the pain of their brief parting; inhaling relief. Mycroft laid on his side, tucking in close to Greg, tangling their legs together. He stroked Greg’s cheek, eyes pleated with worry as he regarded him. 

“Mycroft...you make me happy. ‘m so happy with you.” Mycroft’s lines eased, his muscles loosening as he sank deeper into Greg’s embrace. Tucking his face in Greg’s shoulder, he kissed the sharp relief of Greg’s collarbone. “It’s all I need,” Greg said, low and warm, “you.”

Mycroft smoothed his palm up Greg’s back, back down, sweeping it over his hip, the flat plane of his arse. “Having you here is like a dream come true,” he confessed, laying his temple against Greg’s wrist, rolling his head a little restlessly. “I don’t mean just the sex. Obviously that was--” his lips crimped, fighting a smile which threatened to bloom into a naughty grin, “--transcendent.”

“‘fanks,” Greg dimpled, tugging out the Cockney roots he didn’t really have. 

“But truly, having you, here, in my room,” Mycroft cast his eyes about, brought them back to Greg’s face, “I’ve dreamed of you so often, thought of you being here.” He turned his face into the caress of Greg’s hand, smiling as Greg toyed with one of the curls which had escaped his usually neat coiffure. “The reality is even greater than I’d dared hope.” His eyes were a bit bashful, tender with his welling emotions.

“God,” Greg breathed, eyes pricking tears, easing in to drink kisses from Mycroft’s lips, soft and unguarded with vulnerability, “when you say things like that…!”

“Oh?” Mycroft asked, chasing him for another eagerly bestowed kiss. “What?”

“Just...makes m’heart sing,” Greg said, shy. He blushed a little, but was glad he’d spoken when he saw the happy light in Mycroft’s eyes. He let out a pleased hum at the steady stroke of Mycroft’s hand down his back, over his side. Making a contented noise, he snuggled a little closer. 

“Roll onto your stomach, Greg,” Mycroft whispered a few minutes later, when Greg had been lulled into silence by the gentle motion of his hand. 

Greg made an inquiring noise, but obediently rolled over, arranging himself with the plump pillow for optimal comfort. Mycroft dropped kisses on his shoulder, murmuring appreciatively. “I’ve something I bought just in case we found ourselves here…” he rummaged in the bedside drawer and Greg opened a languorous eye to see a very expensive looking bottle of oil on the bedside table. “How does a massage sound?”

Groaning, deep and heartfelt, Greg buried his face momentarily in the pillow, overcome with a rush of happiness so keen it stole his breath. What had he done to deserve Mycroft? Whatever it was, he wanted to keep on doing it, earn his love and attention forever. 

The first touch of Mycroft’s oil-slick hands released a deep breath, and he melted into the mattress, going limp. It felt so good to be touched! There wasn’t anything sexual about the younger man’s attentions, it had nothing really to do with what had come before, except that Mycroft wanted to make him feel good. Greg’s skin soaked up the delicately scented oil as thirstily as his soul soaked up the care being lavished on him. Mycroft shifted, moving from kneeling beside him to straddling his calves, working his fingers into Greg’s thighs and glutes. He yelped at a spot of tension and Mycroft gentled, passing over and over in sweeping motions until Greg relaxed once more. 

Lulled, he drifted, kept afloat by the constant brush of loving fingers on his skin. Mycroft moved without hurry, gentling him, coaxing Greg’s body to yield to his touch like clay softening under the palms of a skilled artist. Half-asleep, he made a noise of protest when at last Mycroft moved away, the bed shifting as he left it. Murmuring that he was going to wash his hands, Mycroft brushed a kiss over his cheek. 

Returning, he wiped the excess oil from Greg’s back before he laid down next to him, pulling Greg close. Greg snuffled, rubbing his nose on Mycroft’s pec, “Gimme a minute and I’ll do you.”

Mycroft rubbed his fingers backward through Greg’s hair, “No need.”

“C’n’t just lay here like a lump and let you spoil me,” Greg protested, trying to sit up.

Mycroft didn’t move, merely tucked Greg’s head back under his chin. “On the contrary, I’d love it if you let me ‘spoil’ you, as you say. I rather doubt you could be spoiled, but I’d certainly relish the chance to try.”

“‘s not fair,” Greg tried, wriggling so he could tip his head back and meet Mycroft’s eyes, “You take such good care of me. I want to take care of you too.”

Mycroft smoothed Greg’s forehead, as if he could erase his unease along with the wrinkles that bunched up with his frown. “You misunderstand me. Taking care of you, _ spoiling _ you, it brings me immense pleasure. I treasure the chance to make you happy.”

“Don’t you want me to massage you?” Greg tried. “Or, I don’t know, bring you tea and toast in bed in the morning?”

Smiling at him, Mycroft slid down a little, so their faces were even, “Despite beating the sun for being awake in the mornings, I confess that I abhor early rising. Tea and toast in bed would be the height of luxury. It isn’t necessary for you to act with any sense of obligation or reciprocity, however.”

“But if I do it because I want to?” Greg made his eyes Disney princess big, blinking hopefully. Mycroft’s face flashed with another of those terribly fond smiles he bestowed upon Greg so easily.

“If it would make you happy, it would make me happy,” Mycroft concurred. He’d been touching Greg all the while they talked, soft brushes of his fingers, soothing passes of his palms over Greg’s skin. “I’d never deny you anything that made your life better.”

“Well,” Greg said, snuggling in close, “just remember, if you ever need to be the little spoon, I’m willing.”

Mycroft’s eyes were bright as he threaded his fingers through Greg’s hair, stroking, tugging and massaging, smiling as Greg’s eyelids slid closed, “I shall keep that in mind, Greg.”

“You do that, sunshine,” Greg urged, nearly arching into the press of Mycroft’s fingers against his scalp, “You be sure and do that.”


End file.
